


Duty Calls

by EbonyKnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, kind of established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9504869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Greg visits Sherlock for a lunch time assignation, but unfortunately duty calls him away before round two.Set during A Scandal in Belgravia, giving one possible reason for Sherlock and his sheet ;) Not big or clever, but I had fun writing it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
> 
> Having spent a large portion of yesterday and the early hours of this morning watching Sherlock with my dear friend RomanyWalker, we spotted an interesting little scene. Greg is in his car talking to DI Carter about his case and introducing Sherlock. The reflection in Greg's car window looks very much like Baker Street, and in the next scene we see Sherlock, naked except for his sheet. Thanks to John, we know he's not wearing pants, too ;) Now, Greg lurking around Baker Street whilst Sherlock's naked almost makes Sherstrade canon for me, and this happened. 
> 
> Doesn't quite fit the dialogue in ASIB, but fanfic is fanfic, right? The lovely RomanyWalker and I decided that a DS working with Greg's mate Carter is a fan of John's blog and contacted Sherlock when they came across the mystery of the dead hiker. Sherlock, not being interested, sends John in his stead and stays home to have sexy times with his favourite DI. At Christmas in this series Greg and his wife are giving it another go. Greg's no cheat, so I'm going with him and Sherlock having an _arrangement_ whilst he and his adulterous wife are separated. 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome. 
> 
> Beta'd by RomanyWalker, fabulous woman that she is.

Sherlock withdrew slowly but their uncoupling still caused enough discomfort that the Greg could not repress a noise of discontent. 

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, rolling onto his back in an elegant sprawl, more smug than apologetic.

“Liar,” Greg replied, sinking bonelessly into the mattress. A bored Sherlock was a vigorous Sherlock and, whilst Greg knew he’d be feeling it for days, he certainly didn't regret it. “What the fuck brought that on? You’ve not called me for a shag in the middle of the day since John arrived on the scene.”

“Bored. There’s been nothing above a six for weeks.”

Greg shifted on the bed and his thigh muscles ached with the movement. “Well, glad to have been of service.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lestrade. You know that you’re the only person I’ve been able to tolerate intimately for several years and that I value your companionship.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Greg said, rolling onto his side. He propped his head on his right hand and looked down at Sherlock, spread as he was across the bed. His hair was standing up every which way from where Greg had grasped handfuls of it, and the aroused flush was slowly receding from his angular face. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shifted closer, reaching out to card the long, delightfully dextrous fingers of his right hand through Greg’s greying chest hair. The older man watched the hand work its way down his chest until the pale digits were circling his nipple teasingly. “If you think you’re having another go anytime soon you’ve got another think coming.”

A huffed laugh was the only sign that Sherlock had heard him, for his hand continued playing alternately with Greg’s chest hair and nipples, seemingly fascinated with his responses despite being very familiar with Greg’s body. “I’m in no hurry; John will be out for the afternoon on a case for me, and you have no meetings for the rest of the day.”

“Of course you know my schedule.”

“Naturally. You had two MDT meetings this morning, ate three biscuits, drank four - no, five - cups of coffee, and spent the whole time with an erection, thinking about the picture I sent you.”

“All right, clever dick,” Greg replied, leaning in to kiss Sherlock. His mouth, sharp and cutting and brutal most of the time could also be soft and tender and teasing given the right encouragement. 

“Hmm, clever dick, yes,” Sherlock murmured, following Greg’s lips when he pulled away. “You and I both know that the focus of that picture was _not_ my IQ.”

Greg smiled and brought their lips together again, rolling them over so that he was laid atop Sherlock, pinning the younger man with his weight. “Does your mouth never stop?” he asked, kissing his way down Sherlock’s long throat.

“No; I’ll give you a demonstration if you like.” Sherlock wrapped one of his long legs around Greg’s waist, using it as leverage to lift his hips, pressing their naked groins together. 

Things were just getting interesting again when Greg’s work phone started ringing, vibrating loudly against the floor from the pocket of his trousers. “Christ, of all the times,” he said, lifting his mouth from Sherlock’s right nipple. 

“Ignore it; you have no cases that won’t wait. This, on the other hand,” Sherlock said breathily, pressing his growing erection unsubtly against Greg’s thigh.

“Good point.” Greg bent back down, re-applying himself to Sherlock’s nipples, pinching one gently between his fingertips as he teased the other with his tongue. The younger man was falling apart delightfully when Greg’s personal phone started ringing, the James Bond theme tune splitting the charged air. “For fuck’s sake,” Greg said, dropping his forehead onto Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’d better get that.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically and dropped his leg, allowing Greg to roll off him. By the time Greg had forced himself up from Sherlock’s bed and found his phones, both were silent. His personal phone was showing a missed call and voice message from Mick Carter, an old friend and fellow DI working in Surrey, and his work phone showed three missed calls from Donovan. Quite how he'd managed to miss the first two he didn't know, but Sherlock really could be thoroughly distracting when he chose. 

Greg sat on the edge of the bed, shifting carefully to find a comfortable position, and dialled Donovan’s number. 

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, sounding thoroughly frustrated. 

“Told you earlier, long lunch. What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait ‘til I get back?” Greg asked, doing his best not to respond to Sherlock’s foot, which was stroking his back. 

“You remember Dimitri, that serial rapist who disappeared three months ago?”

Greg sat up straight, attention immediately focussed on Donovan. “Yeah, what about him?”

“Well, he’s re-surfaced in Camden. A credit card transaction in a book shop. I sent Jones and White over but—”

“Text me the address. I’ll meet you there.” Greg disconnected the call and stood from the bed, bending down to pick up his pants. He pulled them and his trousers on as quickly as his semi-aroused state would allow, feeling Sherlock’s eyes on him the whole time.

“I’d be annoyed at the interruption if he wasn’t such a vicious rapist,” Sherlock said, and Greg turned to find him sprawled across the bed, legs spread wide, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

“Got anything on this afternoon?” Greg asked, shrugging his shirt back on.

“Nope,” Sherlock replied, sounding bored already. “I had an email from a sergeant in Surrey who follows John’s blog, but the case was barely a six so I sent John. I had planned to spend it engaged in carnal activity with you, but –”

Greg, now re-dressed, cut him off with a kiss and Sherlock responded eagerly. “I need to go. We’ll pick this up later, yeah?”

“You know where I am. This case should keep John busy for at least the rest of the day.”

“Good. I’ll be by later. Text me if anything comes up.” They shared a last, lingering kiss, but Greg eventually found his willpower and pulled himself away. 

Leaving Sherlock, naked and aroused as he was, was harder than Greg would have admitted, but there was nothing for it. He left the flat, crossing the road to his car, and pulled out his phone, head fully back in the game; as much fun as his lunch break had been, duty called.


End file.
